


Please Don’t Sniff the Daisies

by MsCaptainWinchester (rons_pigwidgeon)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alcohol, Blow Jobs, Bossy bottom Dean Winchester, Bottom Dean Winchester, Couch Sex, Dean has a Fear of Flying, Dean isn't a hunter, Honeymoon, M/M, Massage, Revulsion Pollen, Rimming, Sandals Resort, Top Castiel, Witch Castiel, talk of switching, terrible singing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-03
Updated: 2018-05-03
Packaged: 2019-05-01 11:41:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,752
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14519772
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rons_pigwidgeon/pseuds/MsCaptainWinchester
Summary: “If you knew she could do this kind of thing, why did you ever stick your nose in her business in the first place? That sounds crazy, babe,” he says.Castiel’s patience is close to non-existence after an hour of continuous bitching on Dean’s part. He can’t help snapping back, “Was I supposed to let her enslave an entire Kentucky town so she could win a bet, Dean? Was I?”Dean stares at him like he's trying to decide which head belongs to him. "That's..." He closes his mouth and downs his travel-size whiskey without bothering with a cup.When Castiel's mentor, Rowena, decides to exact her petty revenge on him on his wedding night, Dean ends up with a face full of magical pollen, and a whole host of awkward questions follow. Cas is a witch? And he's how old??? Now Dean is pissed, and they can't touch without Dean screaming in pain. But it'll be fine, right? They're only on their honeymoon.





	Please Don’t Sniff the Daisies

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to everyone on the Profound Discord server who helped talk me through this story with encouragement and so many excellent ideas! And a very specific thank-you to [traveling-riverside-dean](http://traveling-riverside-dean.tumblr.com/) for the beta! 
> 
> Check out the gorgeous art that comes with this fic [ here](http://space-wolf.com/post/173567674652/art-for-please-dont-sniff-the-daisies). It was created by the amazing [cryptomoon](http://cryptomoon.tumblr.com/), who's hard work, creativity, and generosity continues to astound me at every turn.

Cas is dancing with his little sister when a warm hand curls over his shoulder, and then Dean is hanging off of him with a sleepy-eyed happy smile and a sloppy kiss to his cheek. “Mind if I cut in?” he asks Anna with a wink. Anna laughs at his dopey face, kisses them both on the cheeks, and steps away without a word, leaving space for Dean to take over. 

He isn’t steady enough on his feet to lead and ends up stepping on Cas’ toes twice before Cas snorts a laugh and takes over. “How many drinks have you had tonight?”

“Aw, come on, Cas, it’s our wedding night. Perfect time to celebrate,” Dean tells him, grinning. He leans into Cas’ arms, nuzzling against his neck as they sway to John Legend. Cas can see half their friends and family watching them with soft eyes.

“I’m yelling at Benny in the morning,” Cas tells him, holding him closer. He isn’t opposed to Dean getting sloppy drunk at their wedding—they met while Dean was eight shots in and giggling even as he attempted (poorly) to flirt with Cas during a work function, after all—but happy drunk Dean puts a damper on their after-party activities, at least until Dean has sobered up a bit. 

Instead of worrying about it, he sways with Dean and listens to him hum along to the music, singing softly into Cas’ ear. Cas would never admit it out loud, but Dean’s singing is his favorite thing in the entire world. He hides his smile in Dean’s shoulder and holds his husband close, enjoying the moment.

By some miracle, they make it up to the room without injury, Dean singing ‘All of Me’ the whole way up the elevator. Cas shakes his head at him, grinning as Dean contorts his face to attempt a cracked high note. “You’re ridiculous,” he says, lifting his hands up to Dean’s face and thumbing at his temples. 

Dean wraps his arms around Cas, grinning back. “You love me.”

Cas nods. “I do. Very much,” he says, leaning in for a kiss. 

They pull away when the elevator doors open on their floor and stumble out together, Dean leaning heavily on Cas’ arm. While he fumbles for the keycard in his suit coat pocket, Dean nibbles at his ear. “You’re really hot in that suit, you know that?”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, but I really wanna take it off you.”

Cas snorts under his breath as he gets the door open and drags Dean inside their honeymoon suite. “Good luck with that. How about you get a little nap in while I take a shower, and then we’ll talk about how hot I look in this suit.” He deposits Dean on the bed, and Dean is just drunk enough to flop down face-first without complaint. 

Cas looks around the suite as he pulls his bowtie off and starts stripping the suit. There’s an enormous flower arrangement sitting on the table in the middle of the entranceway, a bottle of expensive champagne and two glasses set in front of it with a note. He’ll have to look at it when he gets out of the shower. He checks the bed again as he gets to unbuttoning his shirt to see that Dean hasn’t moved. He’s snoring softly, face squished into the comforter. Cas rolls his eyes and kisses Dean’s cheek, brushing his hand down Dean’s shoulder as he does. Dean’s suit jacket and shoes gently remove themselves from his person and fold up on a nearby chair. 

He flicks his hand in the direction of his suitcase and continues stripping out of his suit as it opens neatly and his toiletries and pajamas bottoms float into the bathroom. He follows them in and closes the door so as not to wake Dean. 

He’s toweling his hair as he walks back out twenty minutes later to find his new husband standing at the entranceway table with his nose buried in a giant stalk of a flower that looked more like an overgrown centipede than a plant. Dean must have gotten annoyed with the suit when he woke up from his nap, because he’s down to his underwear, and oh what a sight it is. Cas leans his shoulder against the doorframe to admire the view.

Dean sneezes and wrinkles his nose, making a face at Cas over the top of the bouquet. “I thought they’d smell nice,” he explains, only barely slurring his words. 

He sways in place, hands braced on the table. Castiel hurries to help him straighten, worried he might lose his balance and topple the whole thing over on top of him. The last thing they need on their wedding night is a trip to the ER. “Careful,” he says, not prepared for the yelp of pain Dean lets out as soon as their skin touches.

Dean jumps away from him, staring at the place where his hand had been as if it’s been burned. “What the fuck?” Dean mutters, rubbing at the skin where Cas touched him.

“What’s the matter?” Cas reaches out again and rubs a hand down Dean’s arm, but Dean yelps again and pulls away as if in pain. 

“You start using a new lotion or something? I think I’m allergic to it. Fuck, that hurt.”

Cas frowns. “I haven’t changed my routine. My touch hurt you?” Thoughts start swirling, scenarios pressing in. A prank? His mother reminding him that she isn’t happy he’s married a human? She seemed to tolerate Dean at the wedding well enough. Cas had only heard her make three comments about Neanderthals. 

He looks around the room, but sees no signs of anything amiss. His eyes fall on the bouquet, and he leans closer to it, peering at the flowers. He recognizes the Grevillea. He had mistaken it for a Snapdragons at first glance, but up close there is no denying what he’s looking at. He curses under his breath.  

There is a note attached to the arrangement, a small, simple green card with handwriting scrawled across it in white ink he would recognize anywhere. He curses again and goes back into the bathroom to find his phone. 

Dean is sitting on the edge of the bed staring at him when he comes back out, brow creased and his hands fisted in the sheets. “What’s going on?” he asks.

Cas holds a finger up to quiet him and dials. Rowena picks up on the second ring. “Why hello there, darling. Shouldn’t you be busy with your pretty plaything by now?”

“This is a new low. We are on our honeymoon. How could you?” Cas snaps, unable to keep his anger in check.

Rowena hums in that way of hers that’s like nails digging down his back. “Shouldn’t have gotten between me and dear Pauly-boy, now should you have, love?”

“Rowena, if you hurt Dean for revenge because I didn’t let you put a love spell on a US congressman, I will personally see to it that you get banned from the council for another three centuries. This is a gross misuse of power. Dean is a human, remember?” He doesn’t see the way Dean’s eyes bulge as he mouths ‘human?’

“Ack, don’t be so dramatic. It’s just a wee bit of revulsion pollen. Your boy will be back to putting his hands all over you in a day, two at most.”

Castiel grinds his teeth together, staring hard at the flowers. “I hate you so much right now,” he says.

“I know you do, lovie. Don’t get in my way again, and you won’t have to worry about another hair on that beautiful man’s head, I promise.”

“We’re talking about this when Dean and I get back from Jamaica.”

Rowena huffs at him and hangs up with a dismissive farewell. Cas drops the phone to his side, taking deep breaths to calm down. Dean is fine. Dean will continue to be fine. He’s just under a spell, and probably not even a very strong one. Rowena wouldn’t be cruel enough to make the spell last for the entire honeymoon. She didn’t  _ actually  _ hate him.

“I know I’m still drunk, but did you just say you stopped your frenemy from putting a love spell on a congressman?”

Cas freezes, all his attention back where it belongs. On Dean. Who heard the entire conversation. Dean, who doesn’t know anything about magic. Or that he married a witch. He studies Dean, unsure what to do. On one hand, he could tell Dean, explain about the revulsion pollen and why Rowena sent the bouquet to the two of them. It would go against the council’s orders, but this is an extenuating circumstance. On the other hand, there is no telling how Dean will react to finding out that he married a witch. Will he want a divorce? Will he have a panic attack? Will he try to get Cas to do spell work for him? He’s joked about wishing he had a magic wand to clean the house before...

But no, that last thought wasn’t in Dean’s nature. Panic and anger were the likely scenario. Remembering this, he takes a little breath through his nose, reminding himself that he had wanted to tell Dean in the first place. The Council had intervened and told him not to, but if Dean found out on his own? By accident? “Um… yes. You didn’t mishear me,” he says finally, fiddling with his phone if only to have something to do with his hands. 

He forces a smile and goes to sit on the bed, a comfortable distance away so as not to accidentally touch Dean. The last thing he wants is to cause Dean more pain. He opens his mouth to start explaining, but nothing comes out. He has no idea where to begin.

Dean’s brow furrows even more. “Why’d you call me a human? That’s kind of weird, right?”

That is a good place to start then. “I called you human because I’m not one, and neither is Rowena.”

Dean shakes his head and reaches out to touch Cas as if to comfort him, still a little dopey from all the alcohol in his system. "Come on, babe, of course you're hum—" He hisses at the first touch and pulls his hand back. “What the hell is that?” he slurs, shaking it out.

“It’s a repulsion spell.” Castiel pauses, considering. “Pollen, actually. The flower you were sniffing is a Grevillea. Anyone who comes into contact with the pollen receives painful sensations every time they touch the person they love the most. It only lasts a day or two.”

Dean is still looking at him as though he’s lost his mind. “What are you talking about?” He drops his head into his hands, wincing as he does. “The room’s spinning,” he mutters. 

Cas sighs, reminding himself that Dean is still very much drunk and not really in his right mind. Definitely not in the right state of mind to talk about this properly. “How about you crawl in bed, and we’ll talk about it in the morning when we’re both a little calmer and a lot more sober?” He goes to help Dean get into bed, but realizes the problem with that task just before he manages to touch Dean. 

Dean nods his agreement and shifts on the bed, crawling up it until he manages to get ahold of the covers and then crawls under them. He smacks his pillow a few times to get it in the shape he wants before laying his head on it. Cas watches him, unsure what to do to help him, worried that this might be the last time his husband doesn’t hate him, and he can’t even kiss him good night. 

“Still dizzy,” Dean says, soft and far away with sleep.

Cas sighs to himself and leans over Dean to kiss his hair, careful not to touch his skin. “It’ll be better in a minute. Just get some sleep.” He waves his hand over Dean’s head and feels the swirl of Dean’s equilibrium settle. Dean settles with it, relaxing into the bed more with a sigh. He’s asleep the next moment, snoring softly. Cas lays next to him in bed, but it’s a long time before he falls asleep.

 

* * *

 

When Dean rolls over the next morning, he feels like death personified. His head is pounding and his mouth tastes like something died in it. He groans, half-remembering the ridiculous, awful dreams he'd dealt with all night. All he wants to do is curl up in Cas' arms and never move again. He reaches out to pull Cas close, intending to bury his face in Cas' chest and try to go back to sleep, but as soon as his hand touches Cas' bare shoulder, his skin erupts in molten fire. He screams in pain and jumps away, suddenly wide awake. 

Cas wakes up at the scream and sits up, wide-eyed and reaching for Dean. "What's wrong? What happened?" he asks, frowning when Dean keeps his distance. He blinks at Dean a few times before recognition hoods his expression, and he sighs. "Shit, Rowena. I forgot. Are you alright?"

Dean can't blink, and he can't take his eyes off of Cas. His dreams the night before. They weren't dreams. He sits up straighter and crosses his arms over his chest, trying to ignore the pounding in his head. "You said we'd talk in the morning. It's morning."

Cas sighs again, nodding. "It is indeed. I would suggest we go get breakfast before check-out and talk there, but it's probably best if we have this conversation in private."

Dean waits. 

After a long moment of Cas opening and closing his mouth multiple times, he looks down at his hands and says, "I’m a witch."

Dean squinted at him, not sure he heard right. There's no way he heard right. "Say again?"

"I'm a witch. So is Rowena.”

“A witch?” Dean doesn't bother hiding his disbelief. His brain feels like it's swelling inside his skull. He has zero patience for blatant lies. Witches aren't real. For fuck's sake, Cas should know he's smart enough to know that. 

Cas' shoulders slump further. “Yes. A witch. Pointy hat, black cat, broom-riding, all of it.”

“A witch,” Dean repeats. “Very funny. Let’s make fun of the hungover guy. Who’s your  _ husband _ . That’s very cool, Cas. My head isn't already pounding enough.” Dean scowls at him and gets up to go dig up some Tylenol from his suitcase. 

Cas blows away a strand of hair and flicks his hand at the coffee maker on top of the mini fridge. A packet of coffee grounds opens on it's own and pours into the basket of the coffee maker. A mug floats into the bathroom and comes back full of water and pours itself into the top of the maker. A minute later, coffee is dripping into the cup. Dean watches the whole thing slack-jawed and incredulous. He feels Cas' eyes on him, but he can't look away from the coffee dripping into the cup. 

After a minute and a second flick of Cas' hand, the mug floats towards Dean. It pauses in mid-air, right in front of him, as if waiting to be picked up. He reaches for it, worried that it's about to explode in his hand or spill all over him or something else painful and disastrous. But nothing happens. Whatever invisible force was carrying it lets go, and he suddenly has a cup of steaming hot coffee in his hand. 

“Do you believe me now?” Cas asks, still sitting up in bed.

Dean doesn’t blink. “Cas. Babe. I think I’m hallucinating.” He can feel a panic attack beginning to build in his chest. There's no way what he just witnessed was real. He's going insane.

“You aren’t hallucinating. Just stay calm. Deep breaths. Everything’s okay. I’m still me. You just know a little more about me now," Cas tells him in a calm, soothing voice. Out of the corner of Dean's eye, Cas gets up off the bed and walks over to stand in front of him, reaching his hands out without actually touching Dean.

The panic is still building, but Dean does take the deep breaths. They help. "This is a little bit more than just a ‘little’ thing, Cas. You’re a witch. You can do magic. You just… my coffee made itself.”

“I’m aware.”

Dean stares down at his mug, held in both hands as far away from his body as he can get it. Cas gives him some time, letting him work through this on his own. Even so, Dean can't think straight. This is so far from anything he ever expected to experience. Magic isn't supposed to be real. Witches are fairy tales. Coffee doesn't make itself. But even as he thinks this, his eyes slide back to the coffee maker. He’d watched the coffee make itself. He hadn’t been hallucinating. 

He tentatively tries the coffee, but quickly spits it back into the cup when the bitter taste of it hits his tongue. God, he hates hotel coffee. It didn’t taste any better or worse than any other hotel coffee he’s ever had, though, so he has to assume it isn’t poisoned. Cas wouldn’t do that to him. 

“Gross,” he mutters, taking the mug back over to the coffee maker and looking for some sugar. When he looks back up from doing what he can to doctor the monstrosity, Cas is still watching him with that patient look he gets every time Dean’s trying to get past his emotional constipation. Dean only hates that look a little. “I’m gonna need some more time on this, Cas. It’s a little much.”

“That’s fine. If you have questions, know that you can ask me anything.”

Dean nods and takes his coffee into the bathroom to take a shower. They’ve got a flight to catch in four hours, after all.

 

* * *

 

When they booked the flight to Jamaica, Castiel had been anticipating dealing with a nervous wreck of a husband for the entire eight hours in the air. Dean was not a good flier, not at all. He turned down three jobs because they required occasional international travel. The luxurious location and endless chances to be pampered were the only reasons Dean agreed to go to Jamaica in the first place. Cas had brought sleeping pills and even an elixir his brother had made him that was guaranteed to knock Dean out for most of the flight. 

None of it had apparently been necessary, because Dean starts ranting about being lied to as soon as they get through security and doesn’t stop. It’s like a floodgate opened while Dean was putting his loafers back on, and now he cannot stop talking—quite loudly—about how angry he is that Castiel didn’t tell him he’s a witch. Castiel understands the sentiment. He hadn’t wanted to lie to Dean, but he didn’t have much of a choice. The council threatened to wipe Dean’s memory of everything related to Castiel and bind Cas’ magic so that he wouldn’t be able to use it again until after Dean’s death if Cas revealed the secret without permission. He isn’t sure if he wants to tell Dean that part just yet. The conversation is already far too loud for his comfort.

Castiel's parents had bought them first class tickets as a wedding present, which meant extra leg room and a more comfortable seat for Dean to pass out in—the only thing Dean had been looking forward to on the flight—but Dean barely notices as he sinks into his plush seat. 

He’s still talking when they take off, his hands gripping the arm rests with white knuckles the only indication that he’s noticed the take-off. When the flight attendant walks by a few minutes after the seatbelt sign is turned off with refreshments, Dean buys a dozen bottles of whiskey without blinking. He’s ranting about Rowena again as soon as she’s gone.

“If you knew she could do this kind of thing, why did you ever stick your nose in her business in the first place? That sounds crazy, babe,” he says, cracking open the first bottle as he does.

Castiel’s patience is close to non-existence after an hour of continuous bitching on Dean’s part. He can’t help snapping back, “Was I supposed to let her enslave an entire Kentucky town so she could win a bet, Dean? Was I?”

Dean stares at him like he's trying to decide which head belongs to him. "That's..." He closes his mouth and downs his whiskey without bothering with a cup. “How do you even know her?” he asks when he’s done.

“She was my mentor.”

“You were mentored by the Wicked Witch of the West?”

Castiel hisses through his teeth. He has heard one too many melting jokes in his lifetime to tolerate that bullshit. “No. Absolutely not. I draw the line at Wizard of Oz references. You know how much I hate that story.”

Dean nods to himself, pouring his second bottle over the cup of ice the attendant had given him. “Yeah, and that makes a lot more sense now. I thought you just didn’t like Judy Garland.”

Castiel doesn’t dignify that with an answer. 

“I can’t believe you let Maleficent tutor you.” Dean shakes his head, mouth pinched in disapproval.

“It was the 1790s,” Cas snaps at him, stealing one of his whiskey bottles and swallowing half of it. If Dean isn’t going to be sober for this conversation, neither is Cas.

Dean blinks at him, obviously thrown by this. “Just how old are you?”

Cas’ patience for bullshit has about run over. “Why, Dean? Do you not want to be married to a bicentegenerian? That’s ageist.”

Dean just stares at him for a full minute. “You’re a what?”

“A bicentegenarian. I was born in 1786.”

Dean continues to stare. “You just turned thirty-two in September.”

“I turned two  _ hundred  _ and thirty-two. I just told you I turned thirty-two.”

“You lied to me?” And there’s the hurt. Cas squeezes his eyes shut, clenching his hand against the arm rest. He never wanted to have Dean look at him that way. And it isn't as if he doesn't deserve it. Dean's right to be upset. He's been hiding an important part of himself from his lover for five agonizing years. 

“Were you ever going to tell me?” Dean asks, voice soft and a tiny bit broken.

Cas reaches over to take his hand, but stops himself just in time. He puts it on Dean’s jean-covered knee instead. “I wanted to tell you. I’ve been holding myself back from telling you since our first night together. I wasn’t allowed to. The Council prohibits us from telling humans about magic. We don’t have a great history of understanding.” 

Dean gives him a hard look. “I’m your husband.” There’s still hurt there, maybe a little betrayal. It makes the alcohol swish uncomfortably in Cas’ stomach.

“You are, which is why I was planning to petition the Council for permission to tell you when we got back from our honeymoon. They make exceptions for spouses sometimes, but you have to have the marriage certificate first.”

Dean still doesn’t look satisfied. “What is this council? Is it like the Wizengamot or something?”

Cas stares at him, stunned. “Did you just make a Harry Potter reference?”

Dean looks quickly away, scowling at his tray table and pouring himself another drink. “Shut up.”

Cas grins, unable to help niggling him even if they are fighting. “You told me you hated those books,” he says, leaning closer without touching skin.

"Charlie blackmailed me into reading them. They weren’t… terrible.” Dean scowls down at his drink, refusing to make eye contact.

Castiel can't stop smiling. “You like Harry Potter.”

“Apparently I married him,” Dean snaps back, glaring.

Cas rolls his eyes. “Have you ever seen a wand in my hand? Magic doesn’t really work like that. The born into it part is real, but that’s about it.”

“Explain it to me, then.” And because Dean doesn't look quite as angry anymore, Castiel does.

 

* * *

 

Dean realized mid-flight that he was talking himself into circles about the magic thing, and he wasn't even sure why. Cas might have been lying to him, but he hadn’t wanted to. Dean knows Cas, knows him in that soul-deep way people only talk about with soul mates. There might be some gaps in Cas’ personal history, but where it counts, he knows him better than anyone on earth. And he knows that Cas would have never hidden something like this from him without having a good goddamn reason.

After the porter drops their bags in their room, and their personal butler has given them a quick tour and left them to freshen up, Dean turns to his husband with a tired sigh and says, "This is stupid. I don't care if you're a witch or a bicente-whatever-ian. I love you, whatever you are."

Cas wilts as if all the tension has escaped from his body like a popped balloon. "I love you, too. God, this whole thing is just... It doesn't matter. The only thing that ever matters to me is you." 

They meet in the middle of the bedroom as if to kiss, but as soon as Cas gets his arms around Dean's neck, searing pain shoots down his spine like liquid fire. Dean yelps and jumps away, cursing. "Fuck, that hurts!"

Cas reaches out to comfort him, but stops himself before he can make contact, cringing with his hand hovering just over Dean's shoulder. "Fucking Rowena. Are you okay?" 

Dean shakes himself off, taking deep breaths as the pain recedes. "Sonofabitch, I'm okay, but fuck. Can we hex that bitch, or something?"

"Don't worry, she will be getting her comeuppance. She didn't just hurt you. She made me hurt you. That is unacceptable." His eyes flash the kind of fire that made Dean fall in love with him in the first place, the fierce protectiveness hidden under a soft exterior. "Thankfully, it should only last until the end of the day."

Dean smiles at him, tilting his head towards the balcony and the ocean breeze softly swaying in through their open balcony doors. "How about we get that butler to make us a couple drinks and hang out in the sun for a while? I don't know about you, but I could use some vitamin D."

"Mmm, that sounds wonderful. I'll find our swim trunks. You call in the order." 

Ten minutes later, settled in deck chairs facing the sun, Dean sips at his Mai Tai with a happy sigh. The sun's rays are hot without being scorching, and they warm his skin like a hot bath. He closes his eyes and loses time listening to the ebb and flow of the ocean lapping at their private beach. Later, he's going to spend hours floating in the water, but for now this is the very definition of peace.

Cas bolts upright in the chair next to him, startling him out of his relaxing thoughts. Dean rolls his head to the side without lifting it from the chair, raising a hand to shade his eyes. "What?" He asks, suspicious of the panicked look on Cas' face. 

“I signed us up for a couples massage," Cas tells him, as if this is the worst thing he could possibly have done. 

Dean melts further into the chair with a giant grin, raising his glass in a toast to his amazing husband. “Babe, you’re awesome. I can’t think of anything I want more right now. Can we do mud baths after?” He's been fantasizing about a good mud bath ever since Bela came back from her executive retreat raving about them.

Cas looks less enthused, which is weird because he likes a good massage as much as anyone. “It’s… not a typical massage. They’re supposed to teach us how to… massage each other. It was supposed to be romantic,” he says, burying his head in his hands. His fingers tear at his dark hair in something resembling a bramble bush.

Dean catches what he's trying to tell him in the next instant and sits up immediately, dropping his drink on the table between them. "Cancel it. We can't do that right now."

Cas purses his lips for a moment before shaking his head. "It was $350."

_ Shit _ . That's too much money to just throw away, and the brochure had been clear about scheduled treatments being non-refundable. "Maybe we can reschedule it for later in the week? Tell them we aren't ready to leave our room yet? We're newlyweds. I'm sure they do that kind of thing all the time."

Cas worries his bottom lip with his teeth, peering back through the balcony doors as if they might hold the answer. "I'll try." He gets up and takes his drink with him. Dean watches him go, momentarily distracted by how well his shorts stretch over his perky ass and his thick thighs, already tan from daily long morning runs. 

"Use magic if you have to!" Dean calls after him, teasing. Cas is already inside, but a pillow flies up off a lounger and smacks Dean in the face anyway. Dean isn't proud of the unmanly screech he lets out when it hits. This whole magic thing is going to take some time to get used to.

"I don't use magic to manipulate people!" Cas calls back through the open doors. 

"So you didn't use your wiles to get a better interest rate on the Volvo?" Dean asks, loud enough to be heard inside. 

There's a long pause. Then Cas says, grumbling, "He was trying to scam me."

Dean smirks to himself and takes a sip of his drink, stretching his legs back out on his lounger and laying against the backrest once more. Cas' soft customer service voice floats to him, understanding but firm, though Dean is too far away to hear what's being said. He picks the little umbrella out of his glass and sucks the cherry off the stick, crunching down on the sweet fruit while he waits. He can already feel the first tingles of a sunburn reddening his skin and considers getting the sunblock, but why bother? If he gets uncomfortable, he can always move the umbrella over him. Or better yet, have the butler do it for him. Fuck, he loves having a butler. 

"They're booked solid. It's today or nothing," Cas tells him, stepping back out onto the patio with a defeated set to his shoulders. He drops heavy onto his chair and picks his drink up, downing half of it in one gulp. 

"What time are we supposed to go? Maybe it'll have worn off by then." Dean tries to sound hopeful, but he doubts they'll be that lucky. Cas' grim shake of his head doesn't help. 

"It's in an hour." He reaches out to barely brush a fingertip over Dean's forearm and it's like touching a hot stove. Dean pulls sharply away, instinct taking over sense. There's no evidence that Cas touching him will actually make his skin boil, but it certainly feels like it. 

Dean looks up at his husband. "This is going to be bad, isn't it?"

Cas takes a deep swallow of his drink and squares his shoulders, a determined look in his eyes. "We’ll get through it." 

 

* * *

 

“Now that you’re both good and loose, we’re going to transition to the floor for the instructional portion of the session. Whoever wants to be massaged first, find a pillow to sit on, and your partner can settle in behind you,” Shanice tells them in her calm, soothing voice as she lifts her hands from Castiel’s lower back and steps away from the table. 

Her Jamaican accent is thick, the musical cadence of it as soothing as her tone. She had almost put Castiel to sleep while she and an assistant massaged them, talking about intimacy and finding ways to connect to your partner. Now he’s having a difficult time focusing on standing, disoriented with the change in direction. He looks to Dean, who looks similarly disoriented and so relaxed Castiel wants to take him back to the room and ride him nice and slow for hours. But a flash reminder of what happened the last time he touched Dean stops him in his tracks.  _ Shit _ . Rowena’s trick. How had he let that slip his mind? 

He makes a flash decision and finds a pillow to sit on, glancing up at Dean to try to explain without words what he should do. If they are going to have to touch each other, better Cas be the one getting touched than Dean. At least this way any pain will be relegated to his hands and not his entire body. 

Dean settles in behind him, leaving a foot of distance between them. Castiel contemplates grabbing his shirt to act as barrier, but then remembers he left it in the dressing room. 

“You ready for this?” Cas whispers back to him.

Dean nods behind him, jaw tight. He’s no longer loose or relaxed. Castiel makes a mental note to book him that mud bath and another massage before they leave. 

“The point of a couples massage is to connect with your partner, increase intimacy both in and out of the bedroom. We’re going to start with some oil. If you don’t already have a favorite at home, we have a line of oils available for purchase for you to bring home with you.” 

Shanice comes over to them with a tray of massage oils and sets it next to them. There are a dozen small brown bottles, each neatly labeled with scents like Ylang Ylang, Mango, and Lime. Castiel picks one up and sniffs it, curious, but also hoping to waste time.

“That’s good. Smell them all, find one you both like.” She wanders away for a moment to get a few towels out of a cabinet, and Cas holds up a bottle of something called Tropical Root for Dean to smell. The look in Dean’s eyes tells Cas he understands the stalling tactic. He takes a delicate sniff and shakes his head.

As Cas puts his bottle back, Dean holds up a Caramel and Sea Salt one that has a rich sugary smell Cas isn’t fond of. He wrinkles his nose at it, earning him a smile from Dean. “No dessert smells for you?”

“Definitely not. What about this one?” He holds up the Ylang Ylang. 

They stretch out their fussing over scents until Shanice kneels beside them with a small pile of towels at her hip and a skeptical look on her face. They finally settle on the Lemongrass, clean and refreshing. Dean holds it up over Cas’ shoulder to show her. “We’re ready.”

The skeptical look melts into a smile. “Good, good. Now Dean, I want you to pour a bit of oil on your hands and rub it in to get it warmed up. Start with a little bit. You can always add more, but if you start out with too much, you’ll end up with a mess that isn’t sexy.”

Cas faces forward, concentrating on keeping himself still so he doesn’t accidentally lean back into Dean the way he wants to. He listens to the sounds of Dean opening the bottle and dribbling oil onto his fingers. Sounds he is intimately familiar with. If Dean knows one thing, it’s how to warm up lubricant. 

“Now, I want you to start out with slow strokes. Press your hands from fingertips to palms flat against Castiel’s back and smooth the oil over his skin until it’s all over. When you’re first starting your massage, your goal is to create a connection between you and your partner. Don’t be afraid to drape yourself over Castiel to reach down to his hands. The more skin contact, the better the connection.”

There’s a sharp inhale as Dean’s fingertips finally make contact with Cas’ shoulder blades. Cas wants to cast an anesthetic spell on Dean to help dull the pain, but it requires goblin fruit smeared on the palms, and that hadn’t exactly been something he could ask for at the front desk. Dean continues to spread oil over his skin, tiny inhales of breath the only indication of his pain. His hands must feel like they’re on fire. Castiel is going to murder Rowena when they get back to the States.

“Use your whole hands, Dean. Palm to fingertips. Long strokes over his muscles with those wide palms of yours,” Shanice says with a frown. 

Dean barely brushes his palms across Cas’ shoulders, grunting low in Cas’ ear as he does. Cas closes his eyes tight, trying to push down his frustration. What touch Dean is giving him feels amazing, but it isn’t worth Dean’s pain. 

“Are you alright, sir? You look like you’re in pain,” Shanice says, leaning over to put a hand on Dean’s forearm. 

“I’m fine,” Dean says through gritted teeth. 

She’s quiet for a moment, but Cas can see her watching Dean with the inside of her cheek bitten between her teeth. “Just married, yeah?” she asks, her tone a little more natural and casual than it has been up until this point.

“Yesterday,” Cas confirms.

She nods, smiling in an understanding way that makes Castiel want to hide under a rock. “Bit of tension at the wedding, maybe? Relative say something rude? Still haven’t figured out how you feel about it, yeah?”

Cas glances back at Dean, not sure how to answer. “Uh, no, we had a great wedding,” Dean tells her.

“Then why don’t you want to touch your man?" 

"I have a sunburn. Dean's doesn't want to irritate my skin," Cas tells her before Dean can fumble for an answer. The way she looks at his tanned skin shows how much she believes his obvious lie, but she only hums in understanding. 

"Do what you can, love," she says, hesitation in her voice. She eyes them as if she thinks they might be crazy, but she’s subtle enough that Cas might not have noticed if he wasn't watching her. He isn’t offended. The truth is far crazier to a human than the lie.

Dean flattens his hands against Cas' shoulder blades and spreads oil down his spine in a dragging motion, the only indication of his pain the deep breaths he takes through his nose. Cas hopes Shanice can't hear him over the slow drum music playing through the sound system.

"That's better. Spread that oil all over his skin. You can massage dry if you like, but it doesn't feel as nice. Using oil helps set the mood, helps the muscles to loosen up. Helps your hands move better over the skin. Helps with a few other things you might get up to, too, eh?" She winks at them, smiling again. 

Cas blushes, but nods. If the pollen hadn't gotten in the way, they'd likely be taking advantage of that very idea as soon as they got back to the room.

Shanice continues her instruction with a bit of a sparkle in her eye. Castiel can’t even begin to imagine what she’s thinking. 

Walking out of the spa twenty minutes later, Dean squints up into the sun as he shakes his hands out. The obnoxious Hawaiian shirt he’s wearing is nearly impossible to look at in the light. “Okay, after that disaster, I say we find a bar and get white girl drunk until this stupid pollen shit wears off. Sound good?”

Cas drops his forehead against Dean’s shoulder with a relieved sigh. “Yes, please.”

Thankfully, at a luxury resort meant to pamper in every way possible, a pool with a swim-up bar is never more than a football field’s distance at all times. They shed their shirts and climb into the first pool they find, and have their first drinks of the late afternoon within three minutes. They wade across the pool with two enormous hurricane glasses full of fruity slushy goodness and settle on a bench built into the side of the pool. 

“How long you think we got left before this stuff wears off?” Dean asks.

“A few more hours, maybe a little longer. I don’t think she would have made it more than a twenty-four hour thing.”

Dean turns what can only be described as a smolder on him, the dark one that usually means the countdown to getting naked has already started. It sends a shiver down his spine that has nothing to do with the chill of his drink. “So I can probably fuck you tonight?” 

Cas licks his upper lip, sucking the sticky sweet alcohol left there from his last swallow. "If not, I might have to revisit my cause-no-harm policy for Rowena."

Dean raises an eyebrow, but doesn't comment. He sinks lower in the water to dip his head under, holding his drink above his head and safe from the chlorine. His hair glistens in the sunshine when he reemerges. It isn’t fair how beautiful he is. 

“So Rowena’s a real hell-bitch,” Dean says, swirling his margarita around with his little pink umbrella, completely oblivious to the covetous look Cas is giving him.

Cas shakes his thoughts away and settles more comfortably on the ledge they share, fussing with the umbrella in his own drink. “She’s actually wonderful if she likes you. She just doesn’t like people getting in her way.” Dean frowns at that answer, and Cas finds himself defending his mentor despite quietly wanting to throttle her himself. “You know how sometimes your grandmother gets snippy when your mother tells her she can’t have a second slice of cake without going into diabetic shock?”

Dean pulls the straw from his drink and sucks slush off the end, nodding with a smirk. “Yeah.” Cas has witnessed the elderly Nana Campbell verbally eviscerate Dean for suggesting she skip the cookies on several occasion. He knows what Cas is talking about.

“Add three hundred years to that.”

Dean drops the straw into the water. It doesn’t look like he meant to. “Fuck, you really are 232?”

“Did you think I was lying?” Cas asks, plucking the straw out of the water and setting it on the tiled ledge behind them. Dean doesn’t notice. 

“No, but it’s kinda hard to wrap my head around. Not something you hear every day, is it?”

Cas raises an eyebrow. “Almost every adult on my side of the ceremony was over a century old.”

Dean stares at him for a whole minute, the color draining from his face. Without saying anything, he downs the rest of his margarita in two gulps. “I’m gonna go get another drink. And then I’m gonna ask you… so many questions.” He moves as if to peck Cas’ lips, but stops just before, memory and annoyance crossing his face, before he turns and wades away. Cas can still hear him muttering as he moves away, “232, fuck.”

 

* * *

 

By the time the bar closes, it’s three in the morning, and Cas has told Dean enough stories about his family to rival a Stephen King novel. Dean still can’t completely wrap his head around it all, but he’s drunk enough not to care at the moment. All he wants to do is strip his husband’s swimsuit off and take him apart with his tongue. 

They’re walking back to the room, and Dean can’t stop thinking about which piece of furniture he wants to fuck Cas on first. They haven’t touched since the massage, but he’s hoping the stupid pollen’s worn off by now, because fucking fuck, it’s been more than 24 hours by now, hasn’t it? He’s having a hard time focusing on anything but Cas’ ass in those swim trunks. “God your ass is so hot, babe,” he says, reaching out to grope him through his trunks.

Cas giggles. “I know. You told me five times already.”

“You gotta know, babe. I’mma wreck it when we get in the room. It’s been too long since I’ve touched my  _ husband. _ ”

Cas giggles harder, pushing at Dean’s chest. “We’re in public, idiot.”

“Don’t care. Know why?” Dean asks, grinning. “ _ ’Cause all of me loves all of you. Love your curve and all your edges. All your perfect imperfections… _ ” he starts singing, purposely off-key, grabbing onto Cas’ hips and tilting him back to kiss his cheek. Cas shoves a hand in his face, laughing. 

“You’re ridiculous. Stop singing before people start calling in dying animal sounds to the front desk.”

Dean keeps singing, ignoring his protests. “ _ You’re my downfall, you’re my muse, my worst distraction, my rhythm and blues. I can’t stop singing, it’s ringing, in my head for you… _ ”

He’s just about to belt out the chorus when they both freeze at the same time, staring at each other, suddenly very aware of every inch of bare skin that’s touching. Without pain. Dean’s not drunk enough to be numb, so that can only mean one thing…

Cas grins and reaches up with both hands to frame Dean’s face as he smacks a kiss on his lips. “Bet I can beat you to the room,” he says, right before he tears out of Dean’s arms and goes running down the hall towards their room at full speed. Dean hauls ass after him, yelling about what a cheater he is the whole way. 

He catches up just as Cas gets their door open, giggling—not even out of breath, the asshole. Dean grabs onto him and starts sucking kisses into the back of his neck, tanned and tasting of sunshine and chlorine. “God, I haven’t been able to think of anything but getting my hands on your all afternoon,” Dean says into his skin, licking his way up to his ear as Cas walks him into the room, hands twining with his around his waist. 

“I wanted to take you back here after the massage and ride you for the rest of the day. Fucking Rowena,” he mutters, twisting around in Dean’s arms to kiss him long and hard. 

They end up backed against the couch, Cas’ trunks tangled around his ankles, Dean’s half-way down his ass. “We’re doing your thing tomorrow if you’re down,” Dean tells him, breaking from his mouth to kiss along his neck. 

Cas’ fingers are pressing at his hole, dry but still good as he cranes his neck back to give Dean more room to do his thing. “Dean, you know I’m always interested. Go grab the lube, and I’ll ride you right now.”

Dean nips at his collar bone. “You think you’re bottoming tonight? I don’t fuckin’ think so.”

Cas’ wicked grin should be illegal. “Oh, you think so? I thought you said you wanted my ass.”

“Yeah, want those fucking muscles fucking me so hard the room’s spinning,” Dean tells him, grabbing handfuls of his perfect glutes and squeezing until Cas lifts onto his toes to try and get away, laughing. He holds a hand out over Dean’s shoulder and something smacks into his open palm. 

Dean turns to see their favorite lube in his hand. He blinks, confused for a second where it came from before he remembers. “Fuck, that’s hot,” he growls, attacking Cas’ mouth again and tackling him onto the sofa. “What else can you do with that magic, huh?”

Cas flips him onto his back and drags his trunks down his legs with a smoldering look. “I don’t need magic to make you come on my cock.”

Dean grins, wriggling his hips down closer to Cas. “Yeah? Why don’t you show me then, hot stuff?”

Cas pushes his thighs up to his chest with a wry look and leans down to fit his mouth over Dean’s hole, sucking a kiss to it. Dean drops his head back against the arm of the couch, groaning. Cas’ mouth is hot and demanding, his tongue pushing against Dean’s muscles until they give way. 

And  _ fuck _ does it feel good. He settles into the couch cushions, feeling a little dizzy from the alcohol and the way Cas’ tongue is driving his senses insane. One of Cas’ hands lets go of his upper thigh to move to his mouth, two fingers tapping at Dean’s bottom lip until he opens his mouth to suck them down. Dean reaches up to take Cas’ hand in both of his, moving it to a better angle for deep-throating his fingers down to the webbing, getting them nice and wet for Cas. 

Cas is still taking his sweet time with Dean’s ass when Dean grows impatient and pushes Cas’ hand away from his mouth. “Jesus, would you fuck me already? I’m all for making a meal of my ass any other day, but I haven’t had your cock in me for too fucking long. Let’s go,” he grumbles, shifting his hips around to make his point. If he could reach Cas’ cock, he’d already be lubing it up. 

Cas darts a look at him from between his legs and smacks his upper thighs hard. “Impatience isn’t a virtue, Dean.”

“You think I got virtues? Let’s go before I flip you over and  _ make  _ you fuck me.”

Cas raises an eyebrow as he crawls up Dean’s torso to loom over him, cock rubbing against Dean’s spit-soaked ass. “As much as I love your bitchy bottom routine, kindly shut the fuck up before I shut you up,” he says before leaning down to kiss him deeply. Dean groans into his mouth, wrapping his hands around Cas’ neck and his legs around his waist to get as much skin contact as possible. 

“How you gonna shut me up? Your cock?” Dean teases, lifting his hips up to rub against Cas. Cas groans and drops his face into Dean’s shoulder, leaving a wet kiss there with the next slide of their cocks together. 

“You’re going to kill me.”

“Only if you don’t fuck me.”

“I’m going to smack your ass red if you don’t shut up,” Cas grumbles, pulling away to find the lube again. 

Dean grins and leans back against the cushions, loosening his legs around Cas’ waist so he can sit up. He lifts his legs up to his shoulders again, licking his lips as he waits for Cas to finish with the lube. “Come on, baby, wanna feel that fat cock filling me up,” he purrs.

Cas rolls his eyes at the dirty talk and drops the lube onto the coffee table, using what’s left on his fingers after stroking himself to open Dean up. Dean groans, shifting his shoulders to find a more comfortable position as Cas’ thick fingers rub against his prostate. “You’re gonna kill me if you don’t fuck me soon.”

Cas tsks at him, pulling his fingers out and lining up. “So impatient,” he murmurs as he slowly sinks in. Dean hisses at the stretch, loving the feel of being filled up again. Three days is too long to wait to have this. He’s never letting them go this long again. He pulls Cas down to kiss him as he bottoms out, groaning into his mouth.

“Fuck, baby, that’s just what I wanted,” he rasps, dragging his tongue over Cas’ bottom lip. Cas sucks the tongue into his mouth, canting his hips to press even further into Dean. When they pull away, it’s a slow drag out, every inch rubbing against Dean’s prostate, before he slams back in again, sharp and fast, a blitz of sensation hitting Dean until he’s dizzy. He cries out and doesn’t stop as Cas starts pounding into him, shoving him further up the sofa cushions with each hard thrust. 

Dean’s nerves are frazzled and he’s desperate to come, but every time he tries to reach for his shaft, Cas smacks his hand away and fucks him harder, growling in his ear, “You want my cock so bad, you’re gonna come on it alone.” 

Dean moans, dropping his head back and squeezing his eyes shut. Fuck, he loves it when Cas gets all dominant on him. He drops his legs from his shoulders when they start to cramp and wraps them around Cas’ waist, squeezing his calves to encourage Cas to fuck him harder. 

It doesn’t take long before they’re both a mess of sloppy kisses and shaking orgasms, both of them crying out against each other’s mouths, Cas shaking so hard he loses his balance and falls onto Dean’s chest. “Fuck,” he whispers against Dean’s cheek, leaving a trail of saliva as he tucks his face back into Dean’s neck. 

Dean loosens his thigh grip and lets his feet flop onto the cushion on either side of Cas’ legs, his hands stroking up and down Cas’ back. He starts pressing kisses to the skin he can reach, smothered by Cas as he is. “That was perfect, baby,” he says into Cas’ ear. 

Cas raises onto shaky elbows, smiling down at him before leaning down to kiss him. “We’re never going that long without fucking again. I don’t care if I have to burn down a village to make it happen.”

Dean grins, rubbing a calf up and down the back of Cas’ thigh, stretching lazily. “I probably shouldn’t think that’s hot, but fuck it, as long as it’s wherever Rowena is.”

Cas’ face contorts into a snarl. “She will pay for keeping us apart that long, indeed.” The anger melts into a fond smile, and he strokes a hand down Dean’s chest. “For the moment, though, I think I’d very much like to take you to bed, Mr. Winchester.”

Dean grins and leans up to kiss him again. “I think I’d like that, Mr. Winchester.” 

Cas pulls away, pulling out with a wet sound that has Dean wrinkling his nose. “Maybe a shower first?” Cas asks.

“Yeah, definitely.” He takes the helping hand Cas extends to climb off the couch and follows his husband towards the en suite. If they spend more time making using of the bench in the shower stall that’s bigger than their entire bathroom back home, no one’s there to call them on it or their pruney fingers. They are newlyweds, after all.

 

* * *

 

"Shit, I gotta send Bela flowers now. That mud bath was awesome,” Dean declares as they step into the whirlpool together and settle into their individual seats. 

The jets are already going, pummeling their muscles as soon as they’re sitting down. Cas groans as a rush of pressurized water hits his lower back. “Don’t encourage her,” he grumbles, closing his eyes. Bela Talbot and her wandering eyes are the bane of his existence. If it wasn't unethical to do so, he would have hexed her long ago.

“You jealous, babe?” Cas doesn’t have to look over to know Dean is grinning. His teasing voice is full of it. 

Cas splashes him without opening his eyes. “She’d have to be competition for me to be jealous.”

“Mmm, you sound pretty jealous. Want my hot ass all to yourself?” Dean asks, still teasing. Dean slides closer out of his own seat, his thigh pressing flush against Cas'.

Cas opens his eyes to glance over at Dean. "Why do you think I married you? It wasn't for your high-brow intellect," he says dryly. 

Dean snorts, shifting over until he's straddling Cas, hovering over him with his elbows resting on the ledge behind Cas' head. "Which one of us pissed off Ursula again?"

"Which one of us stuck his face in an unknown flower and got hit with evil pollen again?" Cas counters, resting his hands on Dean's hips, thumbs dipping under the elastic waist of his swim trunks. He’s quietly grateful that they’re alone in this room, because he has a good idea of where this is going, and witnesses would not be good.

"I was drunk," Dean murmurs. 

“And Rowena isn’t a sea witch. She hates the beach,” Cas says, eyes focused on Dean’s lush, pink lips. 

“Ginger,” Dean mutters, just before closing the last of the space between them for a kiss. It's so nice to be able to kiss his husband again that Cas gets a little carried away, his hands sliding under the swim trunks to squeeze Dean's perfect ass. Dean’s chest is warmer than usual pressed against his, a combination of the hot water they're sat in and the mild sunburn that's reddened his freckled skin. Cas can't help but get lost in his mouth and the sinful way Dean’s hips grind down in his lap.

A cleared throat interrupts them just as things are getting interesting. Dean pulls away and looks up behind Cas' head. Whoever he finds there has him grinning shamelessly. Cas twists around to spy Shanice watching them with a raised eyebrow and a self-satisfied smile. "Sunburn healed, then?”

“Yes, thank you,” Cas says, turning his face into Dean’s neck to hide his warming cheeks. Dean might not have any shame about being caught fooling around in a spa, but he does.

“Glad to see you've figured yourselves out. Even so, no sex in the whirlpool, boys. Take it to your room," she tells them, her accent thick with amusement. 

“But we’re newlyweds,” Dean says, rocking his hips a little against Cas’. Cas squeezes his ass, meaning it as a warning, but of course Dean takes it as an invitation to grind down harder. 

Shanice makes a tsking noise. “Keep it clean. Another couple’s due in here in ten minutes.” 

Cas looks up just as she’s stepping out again. He collapses against Dean’s collarbone as soon as the door closes behind her. “I feel like a teenager who just got caught making out under the bleachers.”

“Kinda great, huh? We got ten minutes. Who’s blowing who?” Dean asks, grinning down at him. 

Cas glares. “You have no shame.”

“So you don’t want me to blow you…?” Dean raises both brows at him.

Cas pulls him closer by the hips again. “I didn’t say that.” 

Dean grins and leans down for another kiss, hands wandering shamelessly.

“You’re going to get us kicked out,” Cas grumbles, even as he kisses back. 

They don’t get kicked out, but the door to the whirlpool room is mysteriously locked for twenty minutes and the other couple intending to use it end up having to use the steam room instead. 

**Author's Note:**

> If you want writing updates from me, you can follow me on Twitter [@RonsPigwidgeon](https://twitter.com/RonsPigwidgeon) or Tumblr at [MsCaptainWinchester](https://mscaptainwinchester.tumblr.com/).


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